Luca, please don't die.
I need you.
I need you more than ever.
What am I supposed to do?
If you feel me inside you...
Please.
Please.
Don't give up.
"LUCA!"
"You hear me, Luca!"
I slammed my fists against the door.
I could still see him through the crack—barely. His body trembled, hanging on by threads.
If only I could do something.
Anything.
All I could hear now was the soft patter of my tears hitting the cold, wet floor.
And then...
Something stirred.
Not from the room—
From inside me.
A whisper. Quiet and hollow. Not a voice, not a thought—
Just a feeling.
And then: Nothing.
I couldn't feel Luca anymore.
I stared through the crack.
He wasn't moving.
"Luca!" I screamed again, too terrified to know the truth.
"That's enough," Qassi commanded. "The tether is gone—and so is this traitor."
No.
No, no, no.
Luca isn't dead.
He can't be.
He wouldn't leave me.
"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, QASSI! IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO!"
He didn't flinch. Just let out a sigh—bored, unimpressed.
"What will you do?" he asked as he spoke to a stray animal. "You're nothing but a powerless stillkin. You're lucky we let you witness the death of your only friend."
I sat there in silence.
Nothing I could do could bring him back.
He was gone. Everyone—and everything—I had ever known was gone.
I don't remember how long I sat there.
Just that when the door opened again, I didn't look up.
Hands lifted me. I didn't fight.
A voice said something about respect.
Another murmured something about obedience.
And then—
I was thrown through another door
The world twisted. My breath vanished.
And when I landed, it was face-first in mud.
In front of a manor.
I lay there for what felt like days.
The voices in my head wouldn't stop.
Whispers. Screams. Echoes.
Luca's name, over and over, like my brain was chewing on itself.
Then a voice cut through.
Not from inside.
From someone else.
The language was foreign.
Not just unfamiliar—but wrong, like it didn't belong in my ears.
I couldn't trace it. Couldn't guess at it.
Couldn't escape it.
More voices followed.
They swarmed around me like flies.
Some were filled with anger.
Some with curiosity.
Some with something worse: disgust.
And before I could process it, they lifted me by the shoulders—
Carried me like garbage. Like I weighed nothing.
They dumped me in more mud beside a stable, then doused me with cold water.
It startled me. Woke something up.
For the first time, I blinked like I was alive.
I looked around.
The world didn't match the pain in my chest.
It was… peaceful.
Stables. Workers. Maids.
Stone roads that wove through well-kept gardens and unfamiliar towers.
A small city, self-contained. Functioning. Like none of us were prisoners.
They lifted me again.
They were speaking to me—I knew that much.
But I didn't understand the words.
And I didn't want to.
Part of me wished they'd throw me in a well and forget I existed.
Let time starve me, or madness take me.
It would've been easier than whatever this was.
Instead, they dragged me forward toward the most prominent building—
A towering manor set at the city's heart.
This was the home of the ones I now belonged to.
They dragged me into a room and threw me down—
Hard.
The polished wooden floor hit my ribs like stone.
I looked up.
There was a desk—
Old. Heavy. The kind you'd find in a history book.
It didn't belong to this century.
Behind it, a man sat in silence.
At first, I couldn't make out his face—only the glint off his bald head, framed by bright sunlight behind him.
Then he spoke.
Not in words I understood,
but the tone was clear.
Harsh.
Commanding.
Like steel wrapped in spit.
I tried to stand—
But my legs buckled beneath me.
The floor greeted me again.
As I struggled to rise,
The man stood slowly.
He didn't rush.
He didn't raise his voice.
He just watched me.
His eyes were cold.
Not angry—just empty.
The kind of emptiness that comes from seeing too much death
and not enough reason to care anymore.
He started speaking again.
The words meant nothing to me, but his gestures made it clear—he expected obedience.
He ordered me like I should understand.
Like I belonged here.
Then he said a word I recognized.
"Stillkin."
The sound of it pulled something sharp from my chest.
Dragged me right back to that house. To that chair. To Luca.
They'd called me that before.
Not him. Not Luca. Just me.
Like it didn't mean "boy."
It didn't mean "servant."
It didn't mean anything but wrong.
It was the kind of word that didn't need to be translated.
It could have meant outsider.
Maybe less-than-human.
But I knew what it felt like.
It felt like branding.
Then they grabbed me again—
Pulled me from the room like I was weightless.
My feet scraped every stair on the way down.
Each one a reminder: you don't belong here.
It felt like forever before we stopped.
They threw me into a cellar.
Cold. Damp.
The only light came from the stairwell above, fading fast.
It was huge.
And crowded.
Clothes were strung up like rags on a drying line.
Bedrolls stuffed with hay and feathers were scattered across the floor like trash nests.
No names. No privacy. No dignity.
This was where the garbage slept.
And now—I was part of it.
They dumped me on a pile of hay and left without a word.
Just a grunt. Maybe a curse.
I didn't care.
I lay there, staring at nothing, until everything crashed into me.
Luca. The chair. The mask. The pain.
All of it.
Tears came. Quiet. Uninvited.
I didn't stop them.
I couldn't.
I whimpered into the straw until sleep took me—
And for a while, the pain slipped away.
The sky was blue.
Not the bruised gray from before, not the suffocating dark of the cellar—
But bright.
Open.
I was standing on the hill again.
The one behind the Altair house.
The wind was soft. The grass swayed.
Everything was still.
And Luca was there.
He sat cross-legged in the grass, picking petals from some nameless flower.
He looked up at me with that same tired smile.
"Cass," he said. "You finally woke up."
I blinked.
My chest ached just seeing him.
But I smiled back—because I had no choice.
He patted the ground next to him. "Come on. Sit with me."
So I did.
For a while, we just watched the clouds.
Like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn't died.
Like I wasn't broken.
I leaned my head against his shoulder.
Then he whispered, almost too soft to hear:
"Do you think you'll ever forgive yourself?"
I turned to look at him—
But his smile was wrong now.
Too wide.
Blood at the corners of his mouth.
His eyes had gone glassy.
Unblinking.
The wind picked up. But it wasn't warm anymore.
It howled.
He kept smiling.
Petals fell from his hand—blackened, curling like ash.
"Cass," he said again—
"Wake up."
I snapped awake in a frenzy, eyes darting, chest tight. It was dark—only candlelight.
Two girls stood above me—young, maybe my age.
They looked concerned.
Curious.
Saying something I didn't understand in that foreign, laced tongue.
It was starting to wear on me—I couldn't understand anything anymore.
No control. No voice.
I turned back to the hay and buried my face in it.
I wanted it to be a dream.
But it wasn't.
This was my reality.
And it was still worse than any nightmare.
Then I heard rustling all around me.
People—primarily women—started waking up and moving like clockwork.
Quiet. Focused.
Getting dressed. Brushing straw from their skin.
This was their life.
Wake up. Work. Sleep.
A never-ending cycle of dull torment.
The two girls from before returned to my side.
They tried to lift me, tugging under my arms with all their strength.
I watched them struggle.
And that was enough to make me try.
I pulled myself up—slowly, shaking.
It felt like my legs had never worked before.
Like I'd spent my whole life paralyzed and was only just remembering how to move.
I managed to stand.
Then, I collapsed to my knees again.
The girls looked at me, worried.
Hands fluttering. Words I couldn't understand spilling from their mouths.
Why did they care?
They didn't know me.
To them, I was just another filthy boy with no name and no worth.
Still—
I couldn't let their effort be wasted.
So I tried again.
I pushed with everything I had.
This time, their arms lifted with mine.
Together, we made it to my feet.
They helped me toward the stairs.
My legs were numb. But they moved.
Barely.
Only if I had the strength of Luca.
We took a left up the stairs while everyone else filed right toward the main entrance.
They brought me into a room—it looked like some kind of laundry area.
There were no machines, just water pumps and old metal washboards lined up along wooden basins. A door with a small window led outside, probably to dry the clothes.
They sat me down on one of the many worn wooden stools.
Across from me were two leaning towers: one of folded, sewn clothes—clean—and the other overflowing with dirty rags and sweat-stained fabric.
The girls glanced around, whispering to each other.
Occasionally, one looked at me and said something I didn't understand.
Even if they were talking to me, it didn't matter.
I wouldn't get it anyway.
Then, they tossed two sets of clothes into my lap.
And stared.
Back and forth—my eyes, the clothes, then back again.
Clearly, they wanted me to change.
I scratched my head, confused.
Do they really want me to do it right here?
I pointed at the clothes, then at myself like an idiot caveman.
They nodded.
I sighed. Tried to stand—
Stumbled.
They each grabbed one of my arms and pulled me upright without hesitation.
With the clean clothes still in my hands, I stood there… waiting.
Hoping they'd leave.
They didn't.
They just stood beside me like it was no big deal.
So I started undressing.
I pulled off my shirt, blinking as it passed over my eyes.
When I could see again, they whispered and snickered behind their hands.
Great.
I stood there—bare-chested, nervous, humiliated.
Strangers. Foreigners. Witnesses to what felt like the last shred of dignity I had left.
I didn't want to keep going.
But what choice did I have?
I removed my pants and clumsily stepped into the new ones, wobbling like a half-dead animal.
They held me up the whole time.
No judgment. Just casual care.
Still… it felt like they were my nurses.
Like I was a patient in some war hospital.
And this was just the beginning.
I could only imagine how Luca would've laughed about it for days if he'd seen me—
Wobbling around, half-dressed, with strangers holding me upright.
He would've teased me non-stop.
And I would've let him.
The two girls stayed close, showing me their routine.
They gestured, pointed, and pantomimed tasks until I could mimic them.
It was hard.
I could only learn through movements and trial, like a mute child trying to learn the world.
I caught glimpses—glass reflections, doorways—
Of others watching.
I heard the whispers.
About me.
The Stillkin.
It was constant, like flies buzzing in my ears.
But these two…
They were different.
They treated me like I was real.
Not a freak. Not a burden.
At least around them, I was still human.
I followed the pair around for a few months, learning everything I could.
The nightmares began to fade.
It felt like the past no longer mattered—because no matter how much I replayed it, nothing would ever change.
But the present?
That was still mine to shape.
I clung to the two girls like glue.
They tried to teach me their language.
It wasn't just hard—it was impossible at first.
I couldn't read or write it.
Their script was nothing like anything I'd seen before—primitive and refined all at once, curved and jagged like something grown from the earth.
The first word I learned was Salmira.
A greeting, I think.
People say it every morning when they pass each other.
Simple, soft.
It stuck.
But it was still strange.
I'd followed these girls for months.
They didn't know my name.
And I didn't know theirs.
"Cassian," I said suddenly while brushing one of the horses.
One of them, the quieter, peeked over the horse's back.
The other froze beside me.
They stared.
I repeated it. "Cassian."
I pointed to my chest.
Over and over.
"My. Name. Is. Cassian."
They didn't flinch.
Didn't laugh.
They just looked at each other—then back at me.
And then, softly:
"Noura."
"Yasmin."
Both names at once.
They understood.
I smiled.
Maybe for the first time in forever.
Noura and Yasmin.
Sweet.
Gentle.
Real.
This life… suited me.
Somehow.
I didn't feel the same ache, the same heaviness.
Not like before.
The dreams of Luca still came, but they were softer now—
Echoes instead of screams.
Is it wrong for me to feel okay?
To smile?
To laugh, even just a little?
Shouldn't I be grieving?
Shouldn't I be broken?
What would Luca think?
Would he be disappointed?
Or… would he be happy for me?
"Hayin!" Yasmin shouted suddenly.
I blinked.
I'd been scrubbing too hard. The fabric tore in my hands.
She slapped my wrist—light, annoyed—and pointed at the ripped cloth.
I winced.
Then Noura splashed water at her.
Yasmin shrieked and retaliated.
Soap and water flew everywhere.
They started play-fighting like sisters.
And for some reason…
I smiled.
Not because it was funny.
Not because it was innocent.
But because it was real.
These plain, forgettable memories…
They're the ones I want to remember most.
My daily life didn't change for months.
Every morning, the same tasks. The same rhythm.
But something did change—
Me.
I'd picked up basic pronunciation, even whole phrases.
The language was still complex, especially the longer words, but I could understand most of what people said now.
Speaking? Still rough. But I was getting there.
While digging near the vegetable beds one afternoon, Noura broke the silence.
"Cassian," she asked suddenly, brushing her hands on her apron, "what is the other world like?"
I stopped digging.
Rested my weight on the butt end of the shovel.
"It's… more. New," I said, struggling to find the words.
Even in English, I wouldn't have known how to explain it.
She tilted her head. "What does that mean?"
I frowned, thinking.
"A lot of inventions?" I offered slowly.
"We had tools—machines—you could talk to someone far away. Like… across oceans. In one second."
Her eyes widened a little.
"And… many other things. But to me, that world…" I paused.
Searching.
"It was… complicated."
I wasn't sure if I said it right.
But I meant it.
"Wow. Interesting!" Noura said with wide eyes.
"But I have a question, too."
"What is it, Cass?"
That stopped me.
Cass?
Only Luca ever called me that.
No one else should.
It's not fair.
Not to him.
"Don't call me Cass!" I snapped without thinking.
Everyone nearby turned to look.
Piercing stares.
Noura flinched. "Oh… I'm sorry…" she said softly, clearly confused.
"Why not…?" she asked, hesitating.
"I… I can't talk about that."
It was all I could say.
She didn't speak to me again for the rest of the day.
Then the next.
Then, the following week.
Yasmin stopped sitting with me.
She stopped walking beside me.
What did I do wrong?
Yeah, I snapped.
But was it that bad?
Apparently, yes.
It didn't matter anymore.
Because no matter what I do—
I'm always the one at fault.
I am garbage.
The words roared through my skull.
I screamed them inside but couldn't release them.
Instead, I slammed the shovel down—
Hard.
Too hard.
It cracked. Splintered.
One jagged piece pierced clean between my thumb and index finger.
"FUCK!" I shouted in English.
Blood spilled fast, sliding down my wrist onto the soil.
I just stood there, staring.
I didn't feel it.
Not the pain. Not anything.
Then, a flick hit the back of my head.
"You have to be careful, Cassian," Yasmin spoke from behind.
She grabbed my wrist gently, inspecting the injury.
I blinked at her. Shocked.
Not by the pain—
But by her voice.
"I don't feel it," I muttered.
"You don't have to act tough around me, idiot," Yasmin snapped—frustrated, but not unkind.
Before I could respond, she yanked me lightly—but firmly—behind the manor, toward a bench tucked in the shade.
"This'll hurt."
"What will—"
Before I could finish, she grabbed my wrist and pulled the splinter straight out from between my fingers.
I didn't scream. I didn't even flinch.
"Didn't that hurt?" she asked, surprised.
"No. No, it didn't."
"So you are tough." She chuckled, though her eyes searched mine for something else.
She crouched down beside me, pulling a cloth from beneath her long dress. She dipped it into a clean bucket of water, wrung it out gently, and then started wrapping it around my hand with surprising care.
I stared at her.
Too long.
Her brown hair caught the sunlight. Her eyes—dark and kind—focused on tying the bandage.
"Do I have something on my face or something?" she teased, not looking up.
I turned away quickly, embarrassed to be caught staring.
"Aww, are you blushing? Hehe~"
"Stop messing around, Yasmin," I said, trying not to smile.
But then I dropped it.
The smile.
The wall.
"I'm sorry I yelled at Noura…"
She didn't answer right away. Just kept wrapping.
"I just… the name. It belonged to someone I lost."
"I know," she said softly.
"You didn't have to say it. I saw it in your face. And listen—you don't owe anyone your past.
But… if you can help it, don't bleed on the people who didn't cut you."
"I know. I know."
I looked down, not wanting another lecture—but grateful.
We sat there.
Staring.
Then—suddenly—she leaned forward.
Not fast. Not dramatic.
Just… close.
She brushed her lips to mine.
Quick. Warm. Quiet.
It wasn't passion.
It wasn't even romance.
It was an offering.
A silent, I see you.
When she pulled back, she smiled faintly.
"Now go apologize to Noura. Not me."
"I… I understand."
She tied the last knot in the bandage and helped me to my feet.
"It better be a good apology, too," she added, poking my cheek.
Then she stepped forward—pressed against me for a second—and rested her head on my shoulder.
"No matter what," she whispered, "I'm here for you."
It wasn't romantic.
It was something closer.
Like family.
Like safety.
And when she let go—
I wanted to hold on.
Then—commotion.
Shouting erupted from the front of the manor.
Voices—raised, frantic. Some angry. Some afraid.
Yasmin and I ran toward the noise.
A crowd had gathered.
And in the center of it—
A woman knelt in the mud.
Beaten. Bruised. Her clothes were torn. Hair tangled.
She lifted her head slowly, her hands trembling as she stared down at the dirt caked into her palms.
Then her eyes scanned the crowd—
And locked on mine.
Wide. Disbelieving. Hollow.
"Cassian?…" she whispered.
"No. This is impossible."